


Things that Go Bump

by brooke2broch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooke2broch/pseuds/brooke2broch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange things are afoot at the Swan household. Family and friends help Emma prepare for a wickedly fun evening, while she and her pirate go all-in on their criminally sexy joint Halloween costumes. However, she comes to learn that playing tricks on a pirate always has consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things that Go Bump

**Author's Note:**

  * For [carried](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=carried).



In the dimly lit room it was hard to tell if the ropes were tight enough.

Emma stared at the device hanging from the ceiling - set to fall on the next hapless victim - and wondered if it needed an adjustment. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to fasten down a rope with magic, felt the rush of energy flow to her fingertips…but decided against it. She needed to feel like she could do this on her own.

Just as she was putting the step-stool away, the front door opened and closed softly, and a familiar footfall sounded in her foyer. She stepped back into the shadows to see how well the contraption worked.

As Killian stepped into the kitchen, she held her breath.

Nothing.

“Am I to believe, Swan, that the residents of Storybrooke – some of whom have battled ogres and all of whom have been placed under spells – wish to mill about in these,” he waved his hook at the ceiling, “houses of horror, so they can be frightened by friends dressed as monsters and warlocks?”

“That’s about right,” she said stepping out of the shadows, irritated that the giant paper mache hand hadn’t dropped. She knelt down to move aside the padding on the floor that hid the release mechanism.

“For amusement?”

“Yes,” she smiled as he kissed the top of her head.

“I’ll never understand this realm.”

She reached up to grasp his hand and he squeezed once before walking off. In the wake of all that had come to pass, she had been left with a constant need to touch him…to make sure he was still there.

Emma glanced across the room to watch Killian - in his dark blue peacoat and jeans - place a bag of groceries on the counter (and perhaps stared a bit harder than necessary as he bent down to put away the bread).

More often than not these days, she simply forgot who he had been and where he had come from. But as he made his way through the old Victorian, thumbing rubber spiders and pushing aside wispy black drapes to look behind, she was struck by how much he still had to discover about this world.

He hung up his coat next to the cellar door, which was  _most definitely_ not going to be a part of the Storybrooke Haunted House Tour. Nobody needed to see the dark underbelly of her white picket house, given everything that went down…down there. As it was, she was still worried that half the town wouldn’t show up to her house. The former Dark One and all. It had been over a month and she was still waiting for the dwarves to come by and help rehab the basement into something  _not resembling a dungeon_ , but no one was returning her calls.

It was irritating beyond belief to get Happy’s voicemail yesterday for the tenth time -  _Off to work I go, leave a message and I’ll gladly call you back._ \- and given the look she got from him at breakfast (not happy at all) she was starting to think it was possible that the curse word she uttered into the receiver upon hearing the message was spoken  _after_ the beep.

Killian had moved into the living room.

Feeling playful, she edged around the corner of the wall and waited until she heard the creak of the hardwood on the other side of the dark fabric suspended in the doorway. As soon as she saw his hook push through, she pounced.

“Boo!”

“OI! What do you think you’re doing?!?”

“So, the great Captain Hook can be scared.”

“I was not scared. I was caught off guard.” He reached a finger up to scratch his ear, and avoided her gaze.

“Is that so?” She nudged him with her thigh, a gleam in her eye. “You haven’t forgotten I can tell when someone is lying to me.”

“You’ve got quite the dangerous sense of humor.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he took hold of her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, “you can’t ambush a pirate and not expect to pay the price.”

She giggled as he hauled her towards the stairs, but they were stopped by the ring of the doorbell behind them. “Killian! Oh! You have to put me down, that’s Henry at the front door. I forgot he was stopping by.”

He flipped her down and set her gently on her feet, leaning forward to whisper into her ear. “This isn’t over, love. I’ll get you back for  _trying_  to frighten me…later.”

“I’ve defeated dragons and witches and darkness, Killian Jones. It’s going to take a lot of effort to scare me,” she goaded.

With his hand outstretched for the front door handle, he turned to face her – eyebrow peaked over a piercing blue gaze and his tongue tracing his upper teeth dangerously – before opening the door, “Henry, me boy! Come on in.”

Emma quickly replaced her look of gape-mouthed longing with a plastered-on smile to greet her son.

She’d have said hi, but first she needed to remember how to breathe again.

—————-

“Mom, have you seen my fake gun?”

Mary Margaret grinned, “No, have you checked your room?”

“I will in a minute.”

Despite her pleadings to her parents that they  _please pick something, anything else_  to wear, there her mother stood in her fluffy Daisy Duck outfit. Neal toddled up to his mother wearing (she couldn’t make this up) an egg, arms outstretched and saying “Up. Up.”

Of course he looked darling. Her dad on the other hand. She was afraid to see that.

Her little brother was entirely nonplussed by the costumes  _and_  the altered appearance of his sister’s home. Apparently the insanity of his life experiences to date was far scarier than what Emma had thrown into the mix for her haunted house decor. Rather than finding all the dangling creatures frightening, Neal had reached out to grab a fuzzy bat earlier, said “Gimme,” had named it “Killy,” and was currently snuggling it under his pudgy two-year-old cheek.

Emma spun around in front of them, “What do you think?”

Mary Margaret set Neal on the counter with an arm around him to hold him still, and sighed deeply in approval as Emma turned back to face them. “I really like this outfit. It suits you.” She winked, “I bet Killian will love it.”

It was hard to mask the happiness Emma felt at hearing her mother use his given name lately - an implicit blessing on the relationship. Not that she was looking for it…but…well, she supposed she was, if she admitted it to herself. Her mom had a bit of a hero-bias, and - at this point - there was no denying how truly heroic Killian was.

The mirror in the hall reflected Emma in her tight gold sweater, patterned silk scarf and dark green wool pencil skirt, complete with brown retro heels and stockings. Her hair was done up in a bun, with soft waves pinned on the sides. She smiled at the effect and looked over to her mom again.

Neal had started to nod off. She suggested her mom head to the guest bedroom to take a nap before the festivities started. That left Emma to make some final preparations on her own.

A half hour later she was setting up a punch bowls when she felt a hum in her blood - the kind that always preceded Killian’s arrival. When she looked up she softly sucked in a breath: he had finished getting his costume on as well. Leaning against the wall to the kitchen wearing a dark grey pinstripe suit with a golden tie, and a sexy black leather hip holster, was the Clyde to her Bonnie. A single blue eye assessed her from beneath a black fedora, in a way that sent her pulse into overdrive. He was spinning a fake revolver on his hook and had her counterpart in his right hand. He tossed it to her and she caught her prop and grinned.

He could sure give Warren Beatty a run for his money.

“Where’s your mum?”

“Upstairs with Neal, sleeping.”

“So,” he pushed off from the wall and began to saunter towards Emma, “It’s just the two of us?”

“Looks like,” she grinned and stepped towards him.

“Henry is..?”

“Coming back in an hour with his friends.”

He reached out his hand and hook to her hips, and pulled her to him. “So, Emma Swan, are you up for some malfeasance?”

“Only if you promise to say that word again.”

“Mal-fe-as-ance.” He was so close to her now, the scruff of his beard tickled her above her jawline, with every syllable of the whispered word.

Emma touched her tongue to her upper lip, lighting a spark in Killian, who - at the sight of it - grabbed her face with his hand and crashed his lips to hers on a growl.

The front door banged open and they jumped away from each other.

“Where do you want the fog machine, Emma, I-” David turned around and looked from Killian to Emma, his brow knitted.

If his expression was meant to be one of censure, it only added to the absolute absurdity of his overall look, as he stood there in a full-body white duck outfit, complete with shirt, cap, and webbed feet.

“DON’T say anything if you want to keep dating my daughter.”

“Aye, aye, mate,” Killian said with barely contained mirth. “Nothing but respect for a fellow sailor.”

The face behind the duck bill was not amused.

Emma, unable to control her laughter, had one hand over her face and one on the bannister, doubled over. “You can put the fog machine over there.” She pointed to an area near the outlet in the foyer. “You can hang your hat over here,” she said, a tear rolling down her face as laughter exploded from her, and she said breathlessly, “Mr. Duck.”

“Ha, Ha, Ha,” he said exaggeratedly. “Just wait until you’re married,” David said, putting the machine down and nodding to Killian, “and Emma wants you to go as Mickey and Minnie for your little one. You don’t fool me, pirate. You’d be putting on the mouse ears in a heartbeat.”

Killian’s retort was delayed a bit, which caught Emma’s attention. For the briefest moment, she saw the far off look in his eyes, and she imagined he was thinking the same thing as she was - the dreams they had of marriage and kids were an actual possibility now. Even David saw that.

“I’ve no problem with rodents, mate. But your daughter’s taste seems to run to the more…shall we say…villainous?”

David narrowed his eyes at Killian, whose ability to get out a rise out of her father had been perfected into a near art.

Emma took her dad by the wing, steering him away from Killian before he was able to get under his…uh, feathers…any more. “Dad, why don’t you go check on the monster punch? Mom gave me the recipe but I’m not sure if it’s done quite right?” She turned back to Killian, “You,” she winked and said, “Get that machine going. The fog liquid is over on the table. Instructions are in the box.”

“As you wish.”

———–

The turnout had been better than expected, which put Emma’s insecurities about her town-pariah status at ease, and she was really enjoying herself. Henry and his friends had arrived after dinner and all were dressed in head to toe black, with scary skull masks, ready to jump out and scare the life out of their guests.

Granny had come through early on, and Emma had been worried that maybe it would be hard on the heart of a woman her age to be frightened repeatedly. But with her sense of smell, it turned out that she was able to locate all the teens in their hidden corners before she entered the rooms. The only thing that seemed to have an effect on her heart was Killian, who - when he came to join Emma at her side as Granny left the house - elicited the first emotion she’d seen from her in the entire house tour. Her farewell grumbled remark - “Even the pirate joined in this nonsense” - was belied by a wide-eyed gaze and a missed step on the front porch that had Granny grabbing for the railing.

After that, Killian and Emma parted ways on a mission to refill all the empty candy and snack bowls in the house. As she spilled the last bag of snickers into a bowl, she felt a hand on her arm, and she turned to find her mother.

“Why don’t you and Killian take a break? Belle took Neal over to her place and your father and I need something to do.”

“Okay. We just filled all the snack bowls, but if you could, see if any of the boys or girls need a bathroom break or any refreshments? Also, trash needs to get emptied. And-”

Mary Margaret was off before Emma finished her list. She supposed the nap had really done them some good.

That left her to seek out Killian in her house of horrors, and relieve him of his responsibilities.

Sliding into the living room on soft feet, she looked around. No sign of her sexy, besuited partner in crime. The room was still and dark, black lights giving an eerie glow to the thick pool of fog swirling across the floor. Overhead the sound of thudding feet was followed by screams and shouts. She grinned to herself.

She remembered that Henry was at the back of this room, behind a hanging black drape, so she wasn’t remotely frightened when he popped out - clawed and fanged and growling - but tried to pretend she was for his sake. Given his mumbled,  _Oh,_ followed by a defeated shuffle back to his spot, she guessed she hadn’t done a good job of it. She let him know that if she didn’t know he was there, he would have scared her out of her mind, and left him to his work.

Her hunt for Killian was six rooms in when she stepped into the upstairs bedroom on the left, and immediately jumped back in surprise at the figure popping out from behind the table. She had forgotten that Hansel (or whatever the hell that kid’s name was in Storybrooke), was reassigned to that room and he was insanely good at hiding. (Also good at wiping out the candy supply in the upstairs hallway.) He laughed triumphantly and high fived Gretel, who stepped out from behind a drape nearby.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me kid. Have you seen Killian?”

“Nope,” they said in unison.

“Okay, well if you see him, tell him I’m looking for him. He’s on break.”

They agreed and stepped back into the shadows, while Emma crossed the hall and went into the master bedroom, where she knew no one was hiding. The room was eerily quiet and the buzz of having been spooked hadn’t worn off. A breeze from the window blew the floaty black fabric hangings into the room and raised gooseflesh on her arms.

She went to shut the window and turned at what she thought was a sound in the back of the room. But there was no way anyone was back there. Emma had intentionally put black drapes over the door that led to another staircase which went up to the turret loft and down into the pantry at the back of her kitchen; neither were in a state fit to be seen by the public at the moment.

It dawned on her that she had a house full of hormonal teens, some of whom might like the privacy of that space for…reasons.

“Hello,” she said in her most authoritative voice, “If you’re back there, now would be the time to cease all illicit activities, because I’m about to open the door.”

Pushing aside the fabric, she reached out for the handle, but found only air. Before she could think, a hand reached out of the darkness and grabbed her, spinning her into a pair of strong arms that promptly closed around her torso - the hand clasping over her mouth to stifle her scream.

In soft baritone, the accented voice vibrated against her earlobe, as her heart beat out of her chest, “I warned you, love. I would have my revenge.”

“Killian, the door is- Ahhh….” Emma breathed out, as his hook skimmed across the waist of her skirt, the metal cold on her pelvic bone, “open.”

He shifted behind her and she heard the soft click of the door knob in the latch, leaving them in the nearly total darkness of the middle landing of the stairs.

“Now it’s not.”

“But the door at the bottom…”

“A risk I’m willing to take,” he growled. His right forearm was tight against her chest, the fingers dancing across her collarbone towards the fastening of her scarf. She could feel his face near her ear, and his finger was moving there too, working at the knot. Within seconds, he had it free. For not the first time, she reflected on how talented that mouth of his was. Scarves were merely a sidebar to what he could do, she thought - which kicked up her pulse even more.

While her thoughts drifted, his hand had come to rest on the left side of her jaw and was urging her head down to the right, exposing her neck to him.

For a minute everything was still, save for the rapid rise and fall of her chest, his breath warm on the skin near her ear, driving her crazy with anticipation. She gasped loudly when at last his teeth scraped along the spot where her collarbone met her neck.

A twitch against her back let her know that he was more than a little aroused at her reaction.

She was as well. For Emma, the panic of being caught had combined with the thrill of his fulfilling one of her darker fantasies and had set every inch of her skin alight. When he drew a particularly sensitive bit of flesh into his mouth, she was so turned on her knees gave out beneath her. However, she was kept steady by a jerk of his left arm against her hip, and her steadfast grip of her hand on his right thigh behind her.

Unable to control her need to touch him, she wrapped her hand around his leg more deliberately, her thumb moving up his inner thigh towards his-

Her hand hit something hard near the apex of his legs and she was momentarily confused.

“My holster.” He lifted his head away from the back of her neck to answer the question she hadn’t asked.

She reached for it, only to feel his fingers grasp hers and pull them away, uttering admonishments at her impatience. After a deep exhale, he took both her hands in his and held them together in front of her over her right shoulder.

“Keep those there,” he said firmly.

The mystery of what he was doing was soon answered as she felt the cool of her scarf being twisted around her hands. His head moved forward to help the knot along with his teeth.

The clink of his holster being unbuckled and the thunk of it hitting the ground made her jump and renewed her feeling that someone was going to hear them. She listened for any noises indicating movement nearby, but Killian showed no qualms at being discovered, as she soon felt his hook against the inside of her left knee. It was moving slowly upward, first along her stockings and then across the garter snaps, up to the skin of her uppermost thigh.

A soft murmur sounded behind her, and she felt his chin on her shoulder. “Well, now, what have we here?”

Emma grinned, “You can’t actually see, can you?”

“No, but I’m more than a little familiar with the fastenings of garters, lass.”

“I was going for authenticity.”

“Were you, now?” He ran the hook back down to edge of her stocking, beneath the elastic of the garter, tugging it away from her thigh as he moved upward to her waist and then sideways, seeking her panties. There was a noise of confusion and his right hand snaked beneath her skirt, immediately finding the thin slip of silk covering her. “You mean to tell me this tiny bit of string covering your nethers was common for women like this Bonnie of yours to wear as well?”

“Well…no.  _That_  was just for you. You were supposed to be able to see it though. In the bedroom. Later.”

The scrape of fingernails on the fabric over her most sensitive flesh preceded a muttered, “I don’t need to see it, love. I’m more than satisfied to  _feel_  it.” One finger slipped beneath and circled her nub. “It appears  _you’re_  more than satisfied, aye? Gods, you’re so wet.”

“Can’t I touch you? I want to-” Her words were cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrust two fingers into her.

“I’ll take my vengeance the way I want it, lass,” he said, as he built up a rhythm, his thumb pressing against her clit insistently, and his left arm keeping her firm against him.

Emma was lost in a fog of sensation. She could feel the twist in her belly down low, building, building until she bucked in ecstasy against his hand, which didn’t slow its pace until she was still, her cheeks warm with release.

She turned slowly around in his embrace, her bound hands reaching for his tie and pulling him down to her. “That was-”

“I know.”

“You should wear a hat and a holster always,” she said, against his lips.

“Aye? Well, you should know that I’m rather fond of this skirt,” he said. “As for what’s beneath,” he slithered his hook under the hem and up, dragging it across the base of her rear, torturously close to her center.

The sigh of pleasure that came from her was quickly silenced by his lips crashing down on hers. It was unbelievably hot - the way he nipped and sucked at her lips - how he couldn’t keep himself from straying to her jaw, her earlobes, that spot in the hollow of her neck that made her wild. When he kissed her it always felt like a revelation - like each time was the first. She was on her tiptoes, both his arms wrapped low around her backside - his hook intermittently slipping into her with the shifting of their bodies. Within minutes, the blood in her ears was thrumming and the earlier feeling of being sated had passed. She needed him inside her. And from the solid length pressed between them, he was more than ready.

“Off,” she said, lifting her hands before him. The scarf was discarded in seconds and no sooner was it gone than her hand was on his zipper, and shoving his waistband down so she could feel him in her grip.

The groan that came from him as she slid her hand up and down was one she’d come to know well, but the sound he made when she hooked her knee over his hip and pushed him right past the string of her thong inside of her to the sheath was a new one. Something between pain and ecstasy, the cry that slipped his lips was one she would not soon forget.

Her hands were wrapped tight around his neck, as she moved up and down over him; his arms pressing and lifting with her on every thrust. She was so lost in him that she forgot where she was and let out a moan of pleasure.

Killian’s voice, strained with exertion and accented heavily, sounded in her ear, “Aye, Swan, make those noises I love to hear. Anyone could be on the other side of this wall here. Anyone could hear you.”

“Shhhhh,” Emma said, not really meaning it; liking the way the thought of being discovered sent jolts of pleasure right to the point where they were joined.

“One moment. I have an idea.”

Killian pulled out, and spun her around, guiding her over to the railing at the side of the landing. He smoothed his hook and hand down her arms and out to her fingers, lifting them to place them atop the metal of the handrail. Then his hands were gone and lifting her skirt from behind, the night air chilling her slick flesh for only moments before she felt his hard length being drawn down her backside and between her legs again. Pushing in on a quick thrust, she had to close her mouth to keep from screaming out.

At this angle, she didn’t know how long she could hold out. His hips moved hard behind her and she knew she was edging closer and closer…

Bracing himself with his hook around the rail, Killian bent down over her body, slipping his hand beneath her sweater and up to the lace of her bra. He freed her within moments and cupped her left breast, which was swaying to the rhythm of their lovemaking. His thumb and forefinger closed over her there and began to twist. And that was all it took.

She stifled another cry, as her racking spasms of pleasure coursed through her, followed by a final thrust and moan behind her, their combined climax forcing her to hold tight to the railing for fear of collapsing to the ground.

They stood up, breathless and sniggering, and tried to set themselves straight. Emma flipped on the light in the staircase, to assess the damage. Killian’s hair was an absolute disaster, but otherwise, they weren’t as bad as she thought. She reached out to zip his pants and button his shirt, while Killian tugged her skirt down and handed her the scarf.

As she bent over to retrieve his holster, sounds drifted to them from behind the door to Emma’s bedroom.

“Is that my mom’s voice?”

_I wonder if they went to the loft._

_David, I don’t think you should go in there. If they went to the loft maybe they don’t want to be interrupted._

_If they don’t want to be interrupted, they’ll lock the door upstairs._

_WE didn’t lock the bedroom door earlier._

_Well, Neal was in the other room. We needed to hear him._

_You liked the idea of being discovered, Snow. Admit it._

Emma didn’t want to hear any more of _that_ conversation. It was more than a little disturbing to find out her mother and father were just as depraved as she was.

She threw open the door and emerged right into her parents, who had ridded themselves of their costumes.

“Dad, Mom. We were just-”

Killian cut in, “Looking for more candy.”

“Candy, huh?” Mary Margaret said, her eyes scanning up to Emma’s hair and then taking in Killian’s expression which was a bit wild-eyed and guilt-ridden, and grinned.

David was staring at them straight-lipped.

“You know, Dave, I think I rather like this Haunted House tradition,” Killian said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“You know what I think? There’s a time and a pl-”

“What your dad is trying to say,” Mary Margaret cut in, grabbing him by the bicep, “is that we were also looking for candy. Did you find any?”

Emma looked to Killian, smiling broadly, and shook her head no. Her mother was looking between both of them smiling as well.

“David, I think I hear Neal downstairs.”

“Downstairs? But Belle’s not dropping off for another-” he said, cutting himself off on a glare from Mary Margaret, then said, “I think we’re going to go check the kitchen again for, uh, snacks.”

“Okay, you two,” Mary Margaret chirped. “See you in a bit.”

After they had the room to themselves, Emma chuckled and quipped, “I don’t think they suspected a thing.”

“Of course not, love,” Killian laughed, putting his arm around her. “It sounds like your…predilection…is a family trait?”

“If you want to take advantage of that knowledge again, I suggest you drop that line of thought.”

“Your wish is my command, milady,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers and beginning to walk towards the door. At the top of the stairs, he turned to her and said, “I have a question for you.”

“What?”

“What your father said - about…after we’re married?”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat, but she responded casually, “Yes?”

“When that day occurs - and  _it will_ , love - please promise me I will never need to wear a large rodent costume.”

Emma turned and took both his hands in hers and said, “If you asked me that now, I would absolutely say no, but living here, I have found that nothing seems to be out of the realm of possibility. However-” she said, staring into his blue eyes, “if we do, I promise you this: you can be damned sure I’ll be wearing stockings and a garter underneath.”


End file.
